


Of Perseverance and Passion

by fieryredranden



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Canon Divergence, Eventual Plot, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I've never played Splatoon but I love the lore, Romance, be gentle please, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26966770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fieryredranden/pseuds/fieryredranden
Summary: In which Eight is a big damn hero and Three needs to take a day off.Also, there's the other characters. But this is probably going to focus mostly on Three and Eight (especially Three? I'm not sure yet).
Relationships: Agent 3/Agent 8 (Splatoon), Marina/Pearl (Splatoon)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 49





	1. A Winner is Eight!

**Author's Note:**

> \--Preface--  
> There are a few things I'd like to address in case this fic ends up running for any significant length of time.
> 
> 1\. I don't know how long this fic will run. I'm writing this for fun and practice, and motivation is a fickle bitch. If it ends up running a while, though, I'll do my best to not just ghost it after losing steam. There's no plot in mind yet, nor is there a set tone in mind. It might vary between chapters or change as I keep writing. Maybe there'll be a plot sometime.
> 
> 2\. I've never directly played Splatoon, Splatoon 2, or Splatoon 2: Octo Expansion. Fake fan alert! I know, I know. I was originally captivated by Splatoon through others' fanfics (don't ask why I was reading Splatoon fanfics despite not knowing it well; boredom takes you odd places), and although I've done my best to look at the canon material, I will likely diverge from it unintentionally (or intentionally, as the case may be).
> 
> 3\. The characters are all aged up a bit. The agents, at least. They're all at least over 18, with Three being roughly 21 or 22. This is pretty much just personal preference. This isn't a smut fic and never will be. I just want them to be older. Funny thing about writing? Reality can be whatever I want.
> 
> 4\. The last thing, I promise. Is this gonna be a great Splatoon Fic? Absolutely not. Is this gonna be a good Splatoon Fic? That's the dream, but I have my doubts. Is this gonna be low-tier stuff you can consume while the good fics are updating? Yeah, that's probably it.
> 
> Alright. This is a long preface. Most of you have already clicked off. Those who haven't? Thanks for reading in advance. I promise there won't be more notes this lon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter. Woo.

Chapter One— A Winner is Eight!

Agent 8 cringed as her ears continued to ring from the Killer Wail. In some future tellings of this story, there might have been a happy and smiling reunion as the sun set and/or rose, with accompanying music. In reality, however, Eight collapsed to the ground. She had been holding her breath for the entirety of Pearl’s attack. But it had worked! They did it!

Eight’s body began to unwind. Her back was still burning from where she had torn the ink tank off— that many times failing tests and getting splatted had caused it to stick with that horrible sanitized ink as the adhesive. Her… everything. Hurt. So much. She did not enjoy the feeling of both legs cramped up.

But, she had done it. They had done it! Inkopolis was saved, and she had escaped the Metro. Who was the badass winner? Eight was. She pumped a fist into the air only to groan as her shoulder moved in a way she was fairly certain it should not have.

As she laid there, Eight heard another helicopter approach. She figured, of course, that she was meant to get in. However, her limbs would not obey her. She furrowed her brow. Her body would not claim its glory over her. Not today! Or her name wasn’t… Eight? Agent 8. She shook her head. This was semantics.

Groaning in frustration, she tried to sit up. She got about halfway before falling back onto the platform. She saw that the Captain, Pearl, and Marina were already on it.

“Are you… do you need help?” asked Marina concernedly.

Eight would not allow herself to be made a fool of. Not this soon after becoming a Cool Gal™! In an effort one might call Herculean, were Greco-Roman culture still around for the context of the comparison, Eight managed to sit up, and force her aching limbs to rise. She felt very unsteady, but it was probably fine.

As she lurched forward, she realized that it was probably not fine. She could feel the suspended platform swaying underneath her. The others cried out as she began to fall forward. There was a three-foot gap between the platform and the helicopter. She felt almost weightless for a moment.

And then she felt a clawed hand grab her arm and pull her back onto the platform. She turned around to see the source of this saving grace. And staring her in the face was none other than the sleeping Agent 3. Previously sleeping and now very much awake, that was.

Agent 8, while happy to have not made impact with the cold unforgiving sea below, cursed whatever gods existed. Her Awesome Agent™ status was revoked! She couldn’t even use the trademark anymore! She had almost fallen off and died after the danger was over! As she crossed her arms and pouted, she felt Agent 3 pick her up. No! No!! But also, she didn’t really want to try walking again. So maybe this was okay.

Eight reflected on the fact that she was now being held by Agent 3. During her fight with the Agent, she was absolutely terrified. She had never seen that many specials at once. She had only barely survived that encounter through copious amounts of respawning. However, looking at her now… 

Her face was actually very pleasant, despite its state. There was a blotch of teal across her right eye and ear, but she couldn’t tell if it was just an inkstain or not. Agent 8 felt her face heat up. She wasn’t really sure why that was. Fear? Probably a little bit, actually. Anger? Probably not. Though she was perfectly capable of pettiness, she didn’t feel ill will toward Agent 3. The third alternative was not something she cared to think about at the moment. 

It was at this moment she felt some ill will toward Agent 3. Specifically on the grounds that Agent 3 tossed her over a three-foot gap into a helicopter. Luckily, Marina caught her before her aching limbs made contact with the floor. Agent 3 cleared the gap easily, and the helicopter (and the pacing of this story) finally began to move. (Seriously, I’ve spent about 650 words on describing Eight getting into a helicopter).

———— 

The Captain had gone back to a cabin to fill in his granddaughters on the Ka… Metro. Situation. Eight decided she did not like the word ‘Kamabo’. It left a bad taste in her mouth. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Moreso a bad taste in her brain. Bad memory. Eight certainly had a way with words.

The quiet Agent 3, to Eight’s surprise, had offered to let Eight rest at her apartment. Pearl and Marina had also offered up their own apartment, but they had a show to get to and wouldn’t be around to help Eight. Plus, Eight was curious about the stoic agent. And so with Agent 3 she went.

Eight was still dazed from the recent events, and having trouble keeping up with Agent 3 and her stupid sleep-having self. Even if it was a result of horrible events and an eventual painful knockout. Part of it was her exhaustion. The other part, well… 

As she walked, she was mesmerized by the way the city lit up. Eight had never seen anything so… beautiful. So this was how the inklings used their excess power. Part of her was ashamed at the waste, but she couldn’t deny the spectacle (though parts blurred together with her vision). And while she had been looking forward to seeing the sunrise, the way that the neon glows of signs seemed to bathe Inkopolis took her breath away.

Hitting a lamppost and falling also took her breath away. Very painfully. The inkling eventually had to help Eight along the way, much to her chagrin. If her status as a bodacious brosep— okay she was running out of names for her imaginary status. Still, she silently cursed her delirious state for ruining her first impressions.

Agent 3 slowed down after that, which Eight was silently grateful for. Her body was not obeying her. Eventually, they arrived at a cheap apartment building. Eight, of course, didn’t really have a frame of reference for ‘cheap’, and was in awe at the scale of the building. “You live here?” she whispered.

Agent 3 helped the octoling through the door, nodding to the jellyfish at the front desk. The jellyfish raised a nonexistent eyebrow, then shrugged and went back to her book. Eight might have stared at her for too long if not for her back doing something very unpleasant again. She had never seen a jellyfish before.

“Think of this building as being divided into separate small living spaces. I live in one of those,” said the inkling, her voice impassive. She was waiting for Eight at the foot of the stairs.

“Ah! Like barracks?” asked Eight, gritting her teeth… beak? Sharp mouth bits as they made their way upstairs. She noted that although her fellow agent seemed to be doing much better than her, her breathing was ragged like Eight’s own.

“Like… small houses. I have a bedroom, a bathroom, and a main room. There’s a small kitchen attached to the main room as well,” said Agent 3 as she checked her pockets for the keys. Eight assumed they were for unlocking the apartment.

Eight was, in fact, correct. As the inkling pulled out her keys. They seemed to be metallic grey and utilitarian. Much like the inkling herself, actually. Though the cape definitely was an exception.

The door opened up to a rather small room. After Agent 3 turned the lights on, Eight looked around. As promised, there was what looked like a small kitchen in the corner. There was a small table and two chairs. A couch sat in front of the television. A rather small one (though to Eight, it was one of the biggest she had seen).

Eight also noticed how tidy everything was. It made her octarian heart swell with pride. She hadn’t seen the other rooms yet, but she assumed they were also this well-made. Agent 3 headed into what Eight assumed was the bedroom. Eight… awkwardly stood there. She had no knowledge of inkling societal norms, and she did not want to accidentally offend her fellow agent. To her surprise, Agent 3 came back with neatly-folded clothing.

“There’s a shower in the bathroom. You can take your time, Agent 8. You deserve it,” she said. Eight was a bit surprised. She supposed, though, that she had saved Inkopolis after all. She suddenly felt a bit smug, but decided it was still best to stay humble.

“Thank you, Agent 3. Do you also need to show-ohmygod” she exclaimed suddenly upon touching the clothes. They were a matching set of an orange shirt and pants, and they were the softest thing that Eight had ever felt. She ran a hand over the fabric. It was like she was touching the wool of the gods. The Golden Fleece. There she went again, with her nonexistent. Greco-Roman mythology.

“Is something wrong?” asked the inkling, tilting her head to one side. 

“I. These are. So soft, Agent 3. You inklings. You are hoarding all of the good fabric. Forget the zapfish. We need new uniforms!”

Eight knew she might have been overreacting a little bit, but this was genuinely the best thing that had ever happened to her, sans reaching the ‘promised land’. It was at this moment that the previous best thing that had ever happened to her was usurped.

Agent 3 spoke thus. “Do you want to keep them?”

Eight didn’t know how to respond. A gift of this caliber. She was touched by the inkling’s generosity, despite her hard exterior. “R-really? You would give this to me?”

“Sure. I have more, and I don’t mind parting with a pair. They’re called pajamas. You’re meant to sleep in them,” responded the inkling, now taking off her cape and carefully laying it on the table.

“I. Thank you. So much,” said Eight in a hushed voice. She rubbed the fabric against her face. Part of her wanted to hug Agent 3. The majority of her wanted some kind of painkiller, though, so she decided against it. She was a master of self-control, and o— wait no no no!

Eight felt her gross, sore, inkstained and bloodied arms wrap around Three. The inkling made a noise of surprise. The hug only lasted a split second before Eight went into the bathroom quickly. Very quickly. For no reason other than a desire to take a shower.

Setting the god clothi— ‘pajamas’ down, she looked at herself in the mirror. She had dried blue streaks across parts of her. Her uniform was torn in places, and inkstained in others. She unfortunately had to peel the back off by tearing it. This outfit was hereby decommissioned on orders from the amazing Agent 8. 

Upon tearing the final strip off, she cried out in anguish.. Her back, which had been aching before, was now sharply pulsing.with pain. She felt herself fall to one knee. She could hear Agent 3’s muffled voice through the door.

“What happened?”

Eight panicked. She was tough. She could tough this out. “N-nothing.” she weakly responded, hoping it would be enough.

After a moment, she heard a reply. “Very well. If you want to tell me later, you can. I won’t pry.” Damn it. Her powers of deception were woefully lacking today.

Looking in the wall-mounted mirror, she could see the problem. Where the ink tank had been attached, a nasty, teal blotch of discolored skin made its way down her back. It stung like… like… well. Eight couldn’t think of a comparison, but it still stung and she still hated it. Touching the skin, it wasn’t particularly sensitive. She supposed it was a sign of her trials in the Metro. But she didn’t really have the mental strength to think about it.

———— 

Stepping out of the shower, Eight felt a huge weight off of her shoulders. Showering had never felt so satisfying before. Eight had been cleansed. Not only was there hot water (treated so as not to kill inklings, of course), but she was able to really take some time to get her cramps out/. She had folded what was left of her uniform and left it in the corner of the bathroom for now, and had donned the soft ‘pajamas’. Her entire body seemed lighter, if not still very sore. Looking over to Agent 3, she seemed to be typing rapidly on a laptop computer. The cape had been put away, evidently.

“I have completed my shower, Agent 3,” she said quietly, not wanting to interrupt her fellow agent’s work.

“Three,” she said quickly. Eight was confused. Was she referring to her agent number? Was this a societal thing? Was she even talking to Eight? The plot thickened.

“I do not follow,” she finally stated.

“You can just call me Three. The title of agent can be left off. Do you have a preferred name?”

Wow. A lot had happened at once there. She had been given permission to be casual with her fellow agent. She had earned friendship by doing absolutely nothing! By being a burden, in fact! As for her own name… 

“I… am an amnesiac, if you did not know. So I cannot say for sure at the moment,” she answered quietly.

“Ah. I apologize for asking,” responded Three, lowering her head.

“No no! It is alright, Three. I will be going by Eight for the time being.”

“Very well.”

Eight felt the silence grow longer and longer as she stood there like a chump. She took the opportunity to stare at Ag— no. At Three. Again. Her face, which was still mostly expressionless, had the new addition of a furrowed brow. She seemed focused on whatever it was she was typing.

Over her right eye was a blotchy mess similar in color to Eight’s back. The burn luckily hadn’t damaged Three’s eye, but the damage went from the eye onto the cheek and forehead toward the entire ear. Tartar had really done a number on her. Her ink was still discolored, though a darker teal than before. Moving to the other half, though, Eight found it pleasant. She could feel herself heating up, and flinched as she noticed Three’s eye. More specifically that it had moved from the computer to her.

“Are you alright?”asked Three. She seemed to be mildly concerned. Eight felt herself heat up more as she stepped back from Three.

“Sorry, Three. I did not mean.To stare, I just. Your face is. Nice.” Damn. Smooth as a cactus, Eight.

However, she was distracted from her failure by a sound. Three laughed quietly. Her face looked the same, but the corners of her eyes had gone up a bit. There was a small smile there.

“You’re very tired, aren’t you, Eight?”

“I am fine!” she insisted, more to herself than anyone.

“You walked into a pole on the way here.”

“We do not have poles underground!”

“It was right in front of you.”

“Well. Shut up.” she argued lamely, now crossing her arms. She could feel her speech slur a bit as she said that. A telltale sign of sleepiness… No! No. She was fine and she would prove it.

Three wasn’t smiling anymore. Had Eight said something wrong? Had enough time passed that her face reset? Eight wasn’t sure, but she missed the smile.

“Sorry. I should not have said shut up.”

“Hmm? Oh, no. I know you were joking. At least, I assume you were,” said Three, now typing a bit faster. She then stopped for a moment.

“I forgot to mention. You can use the bed in the bedroom. It’s probably nicer than what you’re used to, although it could be better. If you need new bandages, there’s a roll of them on the small stand next to it.”

Eight was now confused. The bed? Was the bedroom not for Three? “It is your bed, is it not?”

Three, however, seemed to be focused on her writing again. Despite her confusion, the hero decided to go take a hero’s nap. Three was right— this bed was nicer than any she had been on. The blanket was warm, and the room was clean save for some boxes in the corner. She was quickly growing jealous of Agent 3. Eight assumed that the inkling would make it to the shower eventually, and finally, finally, got to sleep.

A winner is Eight, Hero of Inkopolis. Sleep well, little savior.


	2. Work to be Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Three's perspective this time.

Chapter 2— Work to be Done

Agent 3 cringed as she awoke to a Killer Wail. In some future tellings of this story, there might have been a happy and smiling reunion as the sun set and/or rose, with accompanying music. In reality, however, Three continued to lay there. She opened one eye and quickly took in the situation.

Statue covered in pink ink. It seemed to be sinking. Sinking into what? The ocean would explain the sounds of water. She was on the surface once again. Opening her other eye, she took a look in time to see an octoling. This one seemed familiar, though. She could see she was lying on the platform. The Captain was next to her. This was the one from the Metro. Agent 8? That sounded about right.

Now that Three had assured she was relatively safe, she took a moment to sit up. Standing was difficult, on account of the fact she could hardly feel her legs. Her vision swirled as she stood. Low ink? Right; her special limiter was gone. She had used way too many in succession. Quite frankly? Three was lucky to be alive.

Three allowed herself a few moments to recuperate before standing. The octoling to her side wasn’t having much luck standing either. The Captain had made a surprisingly spry leap to a nearby helicopter. As she got to her feet, she could see Agent 8 doing the sa- no, wait. The octoling was unsteady.

Her arm shot out to catch the agent before her brain could process it fully. She had just saved her from an icy plunge into the sea. The fact she had reacted so fast meant her head was clearer as well. She picked up the octoling at that point, and prepared to toss her to the odd-looking duo in the helicopter. They seemed familiar. Celebrities, maybe?

She took a split second to look down at the girl in her arms. She was staring at Three intensely, with wide eyes. Looking at her didn’t make Three react visually, but it did make her feel oddly warm. Anger? That didn’t seem right. She’d have to figure that one out later.

And then she threw the octoling into the helicopter.

———— 

Now that she was out of ‘detective mode’, she forced herself to relax a bit. At this time, she was on her way to her apartment with Agent 8 in tow. The girl kept stopping and staring at the nighttime lights in the city. Why? Answer: octarian energy crises. The eggs from the salmonids weren’t enough. That’s why they kept stealing the zapfish. Maybe she hadn’t switched out of detective mode yet.

Three considered the wonder with which Agent 8 looked at the city. She had never really felt that way herself, even when she had originally come to Inkopolis. Though, the circumstances of her arrival might have swayed that a bit. She almost wished she could understand how others viewed the skylines for which she felt nothing.

Three frequently had to slow down in order to let the poor agent catch up. Upon examining the state of Agent 8, she could see why. The octoling was beat to hell and back again, even more than Three herself. Now addressing her own injuries, her adrenaline fully faded and she felt the weight of them. Luckily, she had built up a stronger pain tolerance than most soldiers. Certainly more than the one who had just spent the last five minutes staring at a cinema sign. She allowed herself to silently complain for one moment, and then grit her sharp mouth bits and continued walking.

After Agent 8 walked into a lamppost, though, Three thought it would be in both of their best interests to help her along. Doing her best to support the beaten octoling, they finally made their way back to her apartment, with the other girl blue-faced the whole way. Three didn’t really understand why she was like that, but supposed that it didn’t matter much.

———— 

Now that Eight had been showered, bandaged, and put to sleep, Three could fully focus on her work. She would, of course, take a shower at some point, but not quite yet. She had finished uploading the data from her employee CQ Device onto her laptop, and had quite the impressive report to write for tomorrow’s meeting. Callie had messaged her a bit after the Captain got back that the Splatoon would meet tomorrow afternoon. She also told Three that she had the next five days off, which Three thought was unnecessary. She would be working regardless of the Sisters’ wishes. Apparently there was also an Agent 4 now? Three was, if not ecstatic, at least intrigued.

Despite her best attempts to keep writing, the octoling made her way into Three’s thoughts. She had seemed pretty enthusiastic at the prospect of pajamas, which made Three feel sad for her. Eight had also told her that her face was nice, which Three took mostly as a genuine if delirious compliment. It made Three smile, though, which she hadn’t done in a while.

Her thoughts regarding the octoling’s amnesia, previous status as her enemy, and new membership in the Splatoon were best left to a well-rested Three, which meant that it would be a few days before she got around to that. Hoping to clear her head, Three got up and headed over to the bathroom, taking a basic tank top and sweatpants with her. Pajamas of champions.

Upon entering the bathroom, Three looked in the mirror. Her face was wrong. It was here that her brain switched gears to analysis again.

Most inklings, of course, all had ‘natural’ colors for their ink. A default setting if you will. Hers, while orange in her youth, had shifted to a yellow in her adolescence. Her current color was neither of these. It was closer to a dark greenish cyan. Teal? Dark teal.

In addition, there was a blotch of burnt greyish teal skin where that slime had gotten on her face and into her head. The eye itself was undamaged, but had lost its color. The iris was blurred and pale. Closing her left eye, she could tell that her vision wasn’t at all impaired.

But that wasn’t what bothered her. She could feel herself shaking a bit. Suddenly, her thoughts regarding her own performance during the mission jumped forward in her mental queue. She couldn’t help but analyze.

Eight and the Captain had both nearly died. Why? Her own incompetence and inability to break free from the sanitization. If she had been more careful it wouldn’t have happened in the first place. The fact that Eight had neutralized her was lucky, and luck was something upon which Agent 3 did not like to rely.

What would have happened had she not been stopped? Answer: That statue was a weapon barely stopped by Eight and by that Killer Wail. A lot more people would have died and it would have been her fault. They didn’t of course, but the fact that they could’ve was more than enough for her brain to work off of.

She felt herself lurch forward, and gripped the counter in time to keep her balance. Looking back up at the mirror, she could see her eyes were becoming blue and bloodshot. In and out, Three. Breathe in and out. Don’t make a sound. There are people sleeping and you don’t want to wake them up.

Unfortunately, seeing a reminder of her failure etched into her face sent her mind into overdrive and her analyses gave way to a cacophony of various scenarios playing out. Eventually all she could hear was static and echoes. Good God, she was sick of hearing herself. She was on the floor, now, but she still did not make a sound. Agent 3 was a quiet person.

A part of her mind that had remained rational was getting fed up with the rest of her having a breakdown. A few quick blows to the stomach, while painful, helped to ground her. This was only half as effective as she had hoped it would be, but it was enough that she was able to get up, remove her tattered uniform, and climb into the shower. Though her aching muscles would have loved the embrace of warm water, she needed the mental clarity. Freezing it was.

———— 

A little over an hour after she had entered the bathroom, Three stepped out. The frigid water had helped somewhat in her effort to cut off the wave of self-pity and paranoia that had plagued her upon looking at her face. Her shower hadn’t taken long, but the rest of the time was spent staring at herself in the mirror until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. Not being able to look at her own scars without having issues wasn’t practical. Besides, such were the price of mistakes like hers.

She got up, sighing heavily. There was still work to be done.

The next several hours went by in a blur as Three finished up her report on Kamabo, hand-washed and ironed the cape, and put the rest of her and Eight’s clothes into the communal laundry machines. Mostly hers, though, on account of the state of Eight’s uniform.

As she put the cape away in a safe spot, she pulled out a few clothes of hers she thought would fit the octoling. They could go shopping for things later. Or she could go shopping with whoever she ended up living with, that was. Three was getting ahead of herself a tad bit. A dangerous thing to do.

She checked the time. 7:07 AM. They had returned at 2:05 AM. It was too late to sleep now, so she decided to instead find something to make for Eight for breakfast. Her usual breakfast spread consisted of two pieces of toast and a glass of orange juice (pulpless, of course), but she figured that the octoling might like something less… utilitarian, considering her past.

Her fridge was surprisingly empty. She really needed to go shopping again, but she had been subsisting on a seemingly infinite jar of pickles in the back of the bottom shelf for a few days before her time in the Metro. 

Callie and Marie wouldn’t have approved, but they had stopped checking in on Three once she had started regularly cleaning herself and her apartment. She had been quite disorganized when she had joined the Splatoon, and the Sisters regularly mentioned her… hygiene problems. Since then, she had made more than a small effort to stay fresh and orderly. She felt her lips twitch upward at her small pun on ‘fresh’, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The early morning had taken its toll on her spirit.

Checking the cupboards, she managed to find a box of pancake mix. She wasn’t sure whether or not octarians had pancakes, but there was always more sugar in Inkopolis, so these would probably taste better. Their nutrition was questionable, but Three exercised more than enough to make up the difference. Eight probably would as well.

Pulling the box down from the cabinet, she felt her claws scratch it. Inklings usually didn’t have them, but Three was a genetic anomaly in that way. Something with recessive genes on both sides and an odd ancestor? She couldn’t remember all of the details, and quite frankly she didn’t care.

After taking a few minutes to file her claws down to a more manageable size, she commenced the pancakening. A childhood of having to quickly feed multiple hungry children meant that she had actually gotten quite adept at the art of pancaking. It had blossomed into an interest in cooking in general, though, which meant that she wasn’t quite as awful in the kitchen(ette) as Marie would have others believe. Nice cooking was something she could do, but it wasn’t practical. And so? Pickle jar. Uninspired pasta variants. Toast and orange juice.

Hearing shuffling coming from the bedroom, she checked the time. 7:32 AM. Eight had slept roughly five hours. Not bad, but it could have been longer. Three had slept a grand total of around 20 minutes after being knocked out by Eight, but she was used to functioning on little sleep.

As Three continued to cook up more pancakes, Eight finally made her way out of the bedroom, perking up at the smell of the incoming breakfast.

“Mmgmornin’,” she mumbled, sitting down at the small table.

“Good morning,” responded Three. The octoling seemed disheveled to say the least, but Three couldn’t really blame her. Grabbing a plate of four pancakes and a fork from the drawer, she brought it over to Eight.

“These are pancakes. They’re for you.”

“Pan… cakes?” said Eight quietly. She seemed confused.

Three walked back over to the stove and turned it off. She had used all of the mix anyway. Throwing some toast in the toaster, she reached into the fridge for syrup and orange juice. Returning to the table she could see that Eight’s eyes had widened.

“How are they?” asked Three, pouring herself a glass of OJ.

“You people. You are hoarding all of the good food as well! This is one of the best things I have ever had!”

Three felt that warmth spread through her again. She really did need to spend some time addressing that. “I’m glad you like them. Though I’d imagine octarians have their own cuisine.”

“Well, yes. But this is so good! What is Sie-Rup?”

“Seerup. It’s a sticky, sweet thing that generally goes on pancakes and waffles,” said Three, handing the bottle over. “Use it in moderation. Otherwise, the pancakes will get soggy.”

Eight nodded seriously before pouring on what was probably more than a little too much syrup. She dug in, making various noises of wonder and delight. Three finished her orange juice and ate her toast like most mornings, but having someone else there made the task feel a lot less mechanical.

They didn’t talk much else other than Eight quietly asking for more pancakes, but it was enough to slow the racing of Three’s unquiet mind for an hour or so.

After that, the meeting awaited them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this chapter took so long, especially considering it's a bit shorter. Next chapter will have more than just Three and Eight, I promise.
> 
> The main reason this took so long other than irl obligations was that Three was a bit harder to write than Eight. The transition to her breaking down still felt a bit janky, but I wanted to get another chapter out before this fic died out. I'll get better with time, I hope.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed reading from Three's perspective.


	3. Enter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tour of Inkopolis involves the early meeting of the newest agent.

Chapter 3— Enter Four

After they finished breakfast, Three had an itinerary lined up. A variation of her normal one, made to include Eight. The meeting was at 1:00 PM. It was currently 8:44 AM, so they had roughly four hours.

Her normal schedule was to wake up, eat, run weapons drills, patrol the canyon, exercise, eat, patrol the valley, eat, do post-mission work, and sleep. There was free time here and there between those. Sleep was often omitted from the schedule in favor of finishing up more work. She used to have splat battling in her schedule as well, but had since removed it in the last year.

She blinked a few times and looked up. Eight was staring at her. Annoyance? No. Eyebrows arched inward. Concern. Why? Right. Three had been staring at the wall for the past several minutes while thinking about her day-to-day. Her fault.

The schedule today was to get Eight registered for splat battles (if she wanted to be, of course), and introduce her to some key locations around Inkopolis. Not a particularly concrete schedule, but it would be enough.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked, turning to face Eight.

“Did you sleep, Agent 3?” replied the octoling, her brow still laced with increased concern. That face hurt Three a lot more than Eight would ever know. She looked so much like… well. It hardly mattered now.

“Are you ready to go?” she repeated, dodging the question. Eight sighed. 

“Yes. I am ready to see Inkopolis!” she exclaimed, a smile now lighting up her face. Three had given her some of her own clothes. A grey t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. Older ones, though; she was thinner than Three by a good margin. Three also hadn’t worn skinny jeans since she had moved to Inkopolis.

“Without running into lampposts?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood further. It seemed to work as Eight was now pouting. There was embarrassment in her eyes, but not anger. She silently walked out the door, with Three following her.

———— 

As they walked through Inkopolis Square, Eight was practically glowing. Her grin was infectious, even to Agent 3. She was probably a little overbearing, but she was just so enthusiastic to be in Inkopolis. At this moment, Inkopolis News came up on one of the screens.

“Oh! Oh it is Pearl and Marina! Three, look!” exclaimed Eight over the crowd. The Square was busier today than usual and it looked like Eight was loving every second of it.

“Right. So that’s what I knew them from. They took over for Callie and Marie on the news… Off the Chain? What was their group called again?”

Eight seemed deep in thought. “Off the… Hook? I believe they mentioned an Off the Hook?”

“That sounds about right. I haven’t listened to much of their music, but it’s good stuff,” Three replied. “Are you ready for a quick tour?”

“Yes. While this is amazing, I have no idea what is happening, nor where anything is. There are too many lights and screens and also the sun. By the way, there is the sun!”

“The sun is nice, yeah. Especially after being in the Metro for a while. For you I suppose it’s even better?”

“Yes. They… we simulate it. In the domes. Pictures of outside. But we cannot simulate the warmth. It is like my skin is baking, but in a good way!”

Three chuckled at that. “If you’re not careful, it might actually bake. Sunscreen is important. Come on, then.” She stuck out her hand, waiting for Eight to take hold of it. After a few seconds, she turned to see Eight was again blue-faced and staring at her open palm.

“Sorry. Force of habit,” said Three. She felt her blood rush to her own face as well, though her expression never changed. Three began walking, and Eight trailed silently behind her.

“This is Inkopolis Square, the ‘central hub’ of the city, if you will. A couple years ago, Inkopolis Plaza served the same role, but there was an economic depression last April that we’re still coming out of, and they had to scale down. It’s not as grandiose, but it works. The Plaza is kind of abandoned now.”

Eight nodded along as they walked toward the first of many shops. “I... see? What is this place?” she asked as they came up on a familiar yellow truck.

“Crusty Sean’s Crust Bucket. It’s a popular place for turfers to buy food and drink. ‘Real’ food requires making it or going to a restaurant, but if you need something quick and filling, it’ll do.”

“There are a lot of people in line. Should we come back later?” 

“If you’re still hungry, we can come back later, yeah. We’re gonna have to pick up lunch and coffee before the meeting.”

“The meeting?”

Ah, she had forgotten to tell Eight about the Splatoon meeting. “We’re gathering the Splatoon together to regroup after the Metro and apparently after Octavio escaped containment. There’s an Agent 4 now, as I was otherwise occupied.”

Eight’s demeanor abruptly shifted. “So we are on a schedule? I fear I may be… underprepared.”

“Relax. The meeting is at one, so we’ve got time.” Eight blinked in confusion. “Sorry. 1300 hours. It’s probably going to be more casual than you’re expecting. We’re a military organization, but only barely.”

Eight visibly relaxed. “So we have plenty of time to finish the tour?”

“Yes, we do. After that you’ll get to meet your fellow agents. I’m sure the Captain mentioned them.”

“‘Scuse me,” said an unfamiliar voice from the line. Three turned to see an unfamiliar yellow-orange inkling with short tentacles and a bright neon hoodie. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Three was suspicious and immediately started looking around. It seemed like Eight had the same idea. The inkling just laughed and stepped out of line.

“You’re the supergirl, right? With the cape? Agent 3?”

Three raised an eyebrow at the stranger. “Who are you?”

The girl did a half-assed curtsy before extending her hand. “Agent 4, at your service. God, it feels so cool to say that. Agent.”

Three relaxed. “Ah. I’ve not had the pleasure yet,” she replied, extending her hand. Agent 4 shook it enthusiastically before extending hers to Eight, who mimicked Three. She noticed that the inkling’s attention was on her face. She couldn’t blame her, but it made the scar burn all the worse.

“Oh, I’m Nellie by the way. Unless you want to call me Four forever. Marie does.”

“I am Agent 8, and I go by Eight. This is Agent 3, who goes by Three.”

She chuckled. “Y’all’re serious?”

“I have amnesia.”

“Oh,” she said, her smile faltering for a moment.” “That’s rough. At least you remembered how to fight, though, huh?”

“Yes! I am thankful for that. You look very… what is the word again?” Eight asked, pondering.

“Trashy?” asked Nellie, grinning down at her hoodie.

“No! Fresh! That is the word. I like it. It looks more comfortable than Three’s clothes.”

She turned to look at Three and raised an eyebrow. “Oho? Sharing clothes?”

Three shrugged. “Her uniform was shredded, burnt, and eaten through by a glorified drain cleaner. I’m going to buy her new clothes today.”

“Relax, Three. I’m kidding, haha.” She then raised her eyebrow again, this time at Eight. “Unless?”

Eight seemed to be getting progressively more dysfunctional as she comprehended what Nellie meant. Three decided to put a stop to it. “Care to return to the tour, Eight?”

“I. Yes. Tour good. We tour now.”

Nellie perked up at that. “Y’all’re touring the Square? I’m guessing you’ve never seen Inkopolis before, then, given your origin. Mind if I tag along?”

Three figured it was probably a good opportunity to learn more about Four. So far she seemed to be pretty laid-back. Probably the type to employ sarcasm. Not nearly as built as herself or Eight, but she had a lot of lean muscle and could probably sprint faster than Three.

“Do you mind, Eight?” she asked. The octoling shook her head, and so off they went to the next location.

“That there is Deca Tower, where you’re gonna be doing all of your splat battling. splatling, as I call it. Which is confusing because that’s also a weapon type. You know ‘bout splatling, right?”

“I… do not. What is it?”

Nellie’s jaw dropped in mock outrage as she turned to Three. “You haven’t even told her about Turf War? I can’t believe this. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Three sighed. “We’ve just met.”

“Irrelevant. Anyways, you’re lucky you got me to take over as your tour guide, Eight. Three sucks.”

Eight pouted. “Three does not suck! She has been very kind and hospitable to me and made me pan cakes!”

Nellie grinned. “Right. Great mom. Shitty tour guide.”

Three said nothing in response.

What did she tell you about the Crust Bucket?”

“It is a food truck where you buy subpar snacks a-”

“Wrong! It’s the freshest place in the Square to get food and it’s fucking amazing. Anyone who says it’s subpar has no taste buds or is a health freak. And Sean is a great guy!”

Three shrugged. “That’s my opinion. Sean is nice, though.”

“Fucking amazing? What does…”

“It’s used as an amplifier in this context. It’s not referring to the verb.”

Eight nodded. “Ah. That makes... sense?” She took a deep breath. “Inkopolis is fucking incredible!” she exclaimed with the biggest grin an octoling could muster. Three was not amused.

“Attagirl. I gotta agree. Anyway, Splat battles are where squids and kids duke it out with weapons in a series of colorful and fun game types. Well, the normal stuff is just Turf War, but if you go into the ranked modes there's a lot more to do.”

“Uh,” she began, the grin falling a bit, “so you are fighting each other as a sport? Turf War like the Great Turf War?”

Three stepped in at this point. “There are SPAWN Pads and backup SPAWN Pads for every match. Nobody is in any real danger.”

Eight relaxed a bit after that. “Okay. That makes sense! It is good training, no?”

Nellie shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. It’s also just hella fun. You can make a lot of money from it too. I survive pretty much on battling alone. It’s a huge part of our culture.” 

“That is great, actually! It will be a good place to test each other as well, I think,” she said, gaining a glint in her eye.

Nellie immediately picked up on it. “That a challenge, octogirl?”

“Perhaps, squid… face,” she shot back, cringing slightly.

“Ohoho! You’re so on after the meeting today. Care to join, Three?”

Three, who had been standing there letting Nellie talk and observing their surroundings, shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I don’t turf much anymore.”

“Oh? Why’s that? Too many losses in a row? A crippling fear of the mighty Nellborne?”

“Nellborne? Is that your registered name?” Three asked, raising an eyebrow in bemusement. It was also an effective way to dodge the question, which she took advantage of.

Nellie crossed her arms. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a good name and you know it.”

“It’s a fine name. Certainly not as bad as wongobongo477.”

The yellow inkling’s pout turned into a full smile as she laughed. “What kind of name is that?”

“He’s a professional, actually. He goes by Wongo. He’s admitted before that the name is bad, but he keeps it for nostalgia’s sake,” replied Three. She was actually relaxing a bit, but she could hear the ticking of her internal schedule. They needed to move on.

“Let’s head over to the Galleria. We’ve not got a lot of time left,” said Three, her tone becoming flat again. She started walking.

“Oh! Right. Come on, Eight,” said Nellie, moving to catch up with Three. Eight followed, still smiling.

————

The group approached the sewer grate together. Three had formed an opinion on her fellow agents by this point. Eight was a little naive when it came to the city, but still had the demeanor and etiquette of a soldier when she wanted to. She was similar to Three in some ways, not that Three thought herself a soldier. Eight had had it a lot harder than her. 

Four, or Nellie, was alright as well. Loud and opinionated, sure, but she meant well. Definitely an extravert. They had gotten on shockingly fast. She also talked about Marie a suspicious amount. Why? Admiration, maybe? Of what kind she wasn’t sure. A mystery for another day. She seemed to be awfully confident as well, but checking her turf records showed that she could back it up. Some kind of prodigy.

As for how the rest of the tour went, Three had to admit that Nellie was a more engaging guide. Maybe it was the fact that she shared the excitement Eight felt? Not that Three wasn’t enjoying herself, but the meeting was in the back of her mind. Speaking of which? They needed to go. The meeting awaited them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I doubt this fic is still on peoples' radars, but I'm not dead. I've been very busy and a little stressed. Especially now that it's almost time for finals. Hopefully another update will be coming soon. Merry Christmas!


	4. Chapter Four-- The Meeting

After finishing up the exciting tour with picking up some sandwiches and coffee from a cafe nearby, Three informed them that it was, in fact, time for the meeting. Eight was… not nervous at all. Everything was fine. She had already met the Captain. And she was totally great. So why was she nervous?

From what she had heard briefly, there were two other Agents in the New Squidbeak Splatoon. Agents 1 and 2, she guessed. She didn’t know much about them, but on the way Three said Eight would recognize them if they sang. She had actually seen Agent 2 ‘speaking’ once on a chat log she was sent, and had theorized they were probably the grandkids the Captain had talked about. She supposed the theory would be proved right or wrong.

“What are the other agents like?” she asked the other two. Nellie jumped in immediately. 

“Marie i— Agent 2, sorry, is pretty great. She’s got a bite and authority to her, y’know? She’s been pretty relaxed most of the time I’ve known her, though.”

“And how long has that been?”

“...Shut up. She’s great.”

Three sighed and evidently decided to move on. Eight was mostly just confused. “Callie is excitable and very assertive when she gets passionate about something. Bubbly, almost. She seems naive sometimes, but she’s definitely not stupid.”

Nellie chuckled darkly and mumbled something about shades. Eight did her best to assimilate this new information. Whatever ‘bubbly’ meant. She would just have to form her own opinions. She thoughtfully munched on her delicious ‘sub’ sandwich as they approached the sewer grate. The sandwich, like everything else, tasted amazing. Coffee, on the other hand, was familiar to her. She was looking forward to it.

“Shall we?” asked Three, raising an eyebrow at the other two.

Nellie grinned before quickly blurting out “Lastonethereisarottenpowereg-” before disappearing through the grate. Eight, of course, did not want to be a rotten power egg, whatever that entailed, and quickly dove into the grate. Victory would be hers! Though she swore she could hear Three sighing behind her.

After exiting the grate, she could see Nellie a foot or so ahead of her. Working on pure competitive instinct, she dove forward, doing her best to take Nellie with her. Just in time, the yellow-orange inkling looked behind her to get a face full of Agent 8.

Nellie made a noise of surprise as she was tackled to the ground. Eight rolled off of her and continued running in one fluid motion. That hurt a bit, but she was going to win!

And then Agent 4 flew past her, boosted and rolling via dual Splat Dualies. She winked evilly at Eight as she reached the table that was set up outside Cuttlefish Cabin.

Eight caught up just in time, her face flushed. “I was going to win!”

“By tackling me. Dirty play begets dirty play, my friend.”

“Bu-”

“No buts. Good run, though. I guess Three is rotten. This is so sad.”

“Undeniably so,” replied Three, stepping toward the table. “I’m no longer safe for consumption.”

Eight wasn’t sure if Three was being sarcastic or not, but assumed that she probably was. It was at this time she heard a noise coming from the cabin.

“I guess you’re here finally, huh?” asked an exhausted-sounding voice. Nellie perked up immediately, as a white-tentacled inkling stepped out of the cabin. Eight could’ve sworn she recognized it from somewhere.

“Good to see you, M-” began Three.

“Heya Marie! How’re ya?” asked Nellie brightly, a smile present on her face. Marie just blinked slowly in response.

“Four, I’m going to need coffee before I can talk to you. Three?”

“Of course,” she responded, putting the drinks and lunch on the table and taking a seat. Marie followed and took a seat of her own. . Four just made an overexaggerated frown as she did the same. Eight followed their example, while taking some time to further examine the inkling.

This one, as mentioned, had light-grey or even white tentacles. This seemed pretty unusual, but she didn’t really know much about their race anyway. After all, Pearl was similar. She was also dressed in a black kimono; an article of clothing that Eight only knew of because of some magazines she had stumbled upon that had fallen into the Valley. Her tentacles were done up in an oddly elaborate style.

She reached for her coffee and took a long, drawn-out swig, before depositing the empty cup back in the holder. Eight was… thoroughly disturbed. There was no glow after the inhalation of the coffee. No caffeine-fueled smile as the energy returned. Just bloodshot eyes half-open. A tiredness even bean water couldn’t fix.

“Much better.”

“You’re lying,” observed Three.

“Quiet. Now, how are you all doing today?”

Four reached for her coffee. “Better now that you're here. S’good to see you guys again.” Marie just rolled her eyes, but Eight could see a smile forming on her face.

“Good to see you too!” exclaimed another voice. As you might have guessed, Callie exited the cabin, looking quite unlike her sister. Clad in beanie and hoodie, she took a seat and grabbed a sandwich. “Thanks for the food, by the way.”

“No problem. That’ll be seven hundred dollars.”

Callie’s eyes widened, before narrowing as she scarfed the sandwich down. Eight was… confused. “What’re you gonna do? Get that sandwich back?”

Three, rather than responding, stood up and rolled up her jacket sleeve. “Stand up, Callie.”

Callie immediately reacted by turning into squid form and slipping away. Three just subtly smiled and sat back down. 

Eight was getting a little uncomfortable. “I… cannot pay for my sandwich.”

Marie waved a hand. “Three’s messing around. Why don’t you say a little bit about yourself? You’re the greenest Agent after all.”

“O-oh. Right!” Shit. That was a little sudden. Marie’s golden eyes, previously glazed and tired, seemed to be focused on Eight now. Maybe the coffee had kicked in? Callie returned to the table in time to hear, though Eight noticed she sent nervous glances at Three every so often.

“I am Agent 8. My name is… Eight. For now. I have some amount of amnesia…”

“Really? I don’t think Gramps mentioned that. Do you have ongoing memory issues, or only the past?”

“Only the past. As far as I know, anyway. But it is okay! I still have muscle memory and enough knowledge of combat to fight properly!”

“That’s something else I wanted to ask you, actually. You’re clearly an ex-soldier.”

“Hey, Marie…” started Nellie, raising an eyebrow.

“Relax, Four. I didn’t mean it like that. But I was wondering when you broke out of the mind control?”

“It’s… hard to recall,” admitted Eight. “All I remember is a melody.”

“The Inkantation!” exclaimed Callie.

“I figured,” replied Marie, her eyes becoming a little less intense.

“You know the melody?” shouted Eight, her eyes lighting up. “You know the song? I would love to hear it again!”

Marie looked a little hurt. Had Eight said something wrong? Oh God. Did she screw up that badly on her first time meeting them?

“Do you remember who was singing?”

“I…” trailed off Eight as she struggled to recall.

And then her face went blue.

“Oh.”

“See, Marie? Callie? I’m not the only one!”

“Oh hush yo-”

“I am so very sorry ma’am! I did not realize you and Callie were the ones who sang the song and I-”

Why was Eight standing and bowing? She felt terrible and stupid and dumb and her cool status would never be restored. But she was still honored to be in the presence of them.

"Hey, hey,” interrupted Callie. “Relax! You said it yourself. You have amnesia. You’re okay. Please, sit down.”

Eight sat down quietly. She was still flushed and embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“At least you have an excuse,” she muttered, giving the stink eye to Nellie. “Unlike some country bumpkins.”

Before she could respond, Three spoke up. “Right. Shall we?”

“Oh, right. We’re here for a meeting, aren’t we? Callie, get the agenda out please.”

Her cousin obliged, pulling out a paper.

“Right!” exclaimed Marie. “Now if we’re all seated comfortably, I think it’s time we begin the meeting proper. In case you’re wondering, Gramps is asleep. Best let him rest.”

The slight smile dropped from Three’s face as she pulled out her laptop. It made Eight a little sad, but she mentally prepared herself for any questions she might face.

Callie took on a more serious posture. “So!” she began. “We’ve had two recent missions happen. The first being a mission to investigate the Kamabo Corporation by Gramps and Three.”

“And the second,” continued Marie, “being the saving of my cousin from DJ Octavio’s mind control. Thrice, I might a-”

“Haha, yeah, sorry about that,” said Callie quickly.

“Pardon? I missed what Marie said,” interjected Eight.

“Absolutely nothing!”

“I… okay?”

“We’ll start with you, Three. I’m guessing from your laptop that you stayed up all night writing up a report?”

Eight sincerely hoped Three didn’t do that. She made a questioning glance at her inkling friend.

“Of course not. But here’s the report anyway.”

———— 

After around two hours of information, antics, questioning, and business, the meeting was beginning to come to a close. The first part had been a little lengthy, but mostly covered what Three knew of the facility. Eight gladly filled in the gaps, eager to be of use and recount her badassery. Especially considering that she had seen more of the Metro, while Three had seen more of the labs. Both Callie and Marie seemed pretty impressed. During the part where they talked about Agent 3’s corruption, the inkling was pretty quiet, and only answered when directly asked things. She didn’t look anyone in the eyes. Eight was a little worried for her.

The second half of the meeting consisted of yet another wild story of a single inkling taking down several Great Octoweapons in a matter of hours. Eight was still stunned by this. Upon realizing that DJ Octavio himself was just nearby in a prison sphere, everyone took a brief recess to go flip him the bird (except, interestingly enough, for Three). It was a kind of rush Eight had not felt before, especially considering the look on his face when he saw her, but it made her feel a lot better. She also called him several octarian expletives, which only Three seemed to understand.

“So. Now that’s all done, we have a few official announcements to make. We are formally recognizing Agents 4 and 8 as members of the New Squidbeak Splatoon,” said Marie. Everyone politely clapped.

Callie smiled. “You basically already were, but we had to announce it for legal reasons.”

“Wait. Legal? Is this legal?” questioned Nellie.

“Second,” continued Marie, looking anywhere but at Nellie, “we’re thinking about contacting Pearl and Marina and offering them positions either as agents or partners of the New Squidbeak Splatoon. We’ve not really talked with them yet, but we appreciate the work they did with Eight. Sheldon has already been made an official Splatoon contact. You can trust him with information if you’re in an emergency.”

Callie interjected after that. “Third, Agent 3 is taking the next five days off. If you see her around here trying to get into the valley, stop her!”

“And for the love of God, see a doctor.”

Three began to say something, but Marie just narrowed her eyes at her, before continuing. “Gramps is also taking some time off. Eight, you seem to be in similar shape to Three, so we’d ask that you take a few days to relax as well. Four? You’re fine. Get to work.”

“That is so unbelievably unfair. Guess I’ll die.”

Eight was horrified. “No! Do not die!”

“Chill, Eight. It’s a meme,” said Nellie, grinning like that explained everything.

“A… what?”

“Damn. We’ve gotta get that sorted out, y’all.”

“And thus ends the official meeting,” announced Marie. “In a more unofficial sense, we need to figure out what to do with you, Eight.”

“M-me? What do you mean?”

Callie piped up. “Do you have a place to stay? If not, we can always spare a bit of room in our apa- oof!” Callie was cut off as she was hit by something unseen.

“Remember Callie? Y’all were telling me you had so much extra stuff in the only spare places. Totally overflowing!” Nellie said rather suddenly, while making subtle nods at Eight and Three. Eight was… confused.

Callie’s eyes widened in what Eight guessed was understanding of whatever was happening here. “Yeah. Sorry, I just remembered. We’re kind of swamped. You have room, right Three?”

“Oh! I would not want to impose, Three!”

Three raised an eyebrow at Marie. Marie just smirked and shrugged. Three sighed in response. “I don’t mind. Besides, you don’t really have anywhere else at the moment. As long as you’re alright with it, you can stay with me for a while.”

Eight smiled brightly. She wouldn’t have minded staying with the idols, but part of her was very happy they had so much ‘stuff’. She reached out and hugged Three yet again.

“Veemo!”

————

After that, Eight received a call from Marina to check in on her. She let them know that she was staying with Three for a while. Three also ended up talking to Marina for a bit. She looked a little perturbed after the call ended.

“Did something happen, Three?

Three’s face changed back into a neutral expression. “No. She’s just worried about you. And Pearl checked in as well. She’s very loud.”

“Oh. Yes, she… is. Very loud.”

“Well. I’ve got Nellie's contact information. Did you want to check out the splat battling?”

Eight smiled brightly. “Yes! I have been excited for that!”

Three stood up and stuck out a hand. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Splatoon 3 is coming out! In 2022, mind you, but still! It has rekindled my interest a bit, and I've been getting over some writer's block best I can recently. I'm sorry this chapter took so long to come out. If it seems tonally off, sorry.
> 
> The meeting itself was summarized largely because I didn't think that reading 1500 words of pure dialogue would be very exciting. I suppose I could be wrong though!
> 
> And as always, I'll try and respond to comments, even if the response is brief. Thanks for reading.
> 
> And also WOO SPLATOON 3! I can't contain my excitement.


End file.
